


The Missing Hours

by amelia



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Torchwood
Genre: Amnesia, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Retcon, Retcon (Torchwood), Roleplay, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 09:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amelia/pseuds/amelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwen awakes to the taste of retcon in her mouth, and Jack finds himself with a guilty conscience and a bad habit. Set post-"Meat," Gwen/Jack and Jack/Ianto.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. missing hours

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Пропавшее время](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3398360) by [WTF_MOSK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTF_MOSK/pseuds/WTF_MOSK)



It was the Retcon again-–Gwen knew before she’d opened her eyes. The pressure in her head felt like some alien breaking free, and her mouth tasted dry like she'd eaten a pillow. She squinted into the dim light of her bedroom. All was quiet; Rhys was long gone for the day; the clock read 4:00pm.

She’d lost–-what?-–a day?

Last night, Ianto had brought in Chinese food to the Hub, and they’d sat with Jack and joked about the sweet and sour life of the chicken. 

Ianto found a spike in rift energy from a nearby warehouse they needed to investigate in the morning, and she’d sat with Jack and planned a morning raid.

Then what? Had she slept through their dawn appointment? Or had he retconned her after whatever horror they’d found in the warehouse? 

This headache was starting to feel all too familiar. They’d done this before. Something came through the rift, then suddenly she lost a day. 

Gwen tossed back some painkillers, pulled on some clean jeans, and raced traffic to the Hub.

\--

The grocery aisles were quiet. Rhys was picking up supplies for the office–-pens, coffee, and snacks–-and strayed toward the wine aisle. Gwen hadn’t been home for dinner in a week. Maybe tonight. 

He needed to do something romantic for her, to take her mind off aliens and Torchwood. Something to make their lives feel normal again. 

As he lifted a bottle off the shelf, he squelched a surge of jealousy. He couldn’t help but worry that she was spending nights at Torchwood not because of a mission, or hunting aliens, but because of someone--that Jack fellow, in the coat--whether or not she knew it.

It wouldn’t do to confront her. For now, a night home, an aged Pinot Noir, and a romantic dinner might restore them both.

\--

 _The week before  
_  
4:30 pm. Tosh squinted at her computer screen, scribbling a translation of a message from a small bottle that had fallen out of the rift, while Gwen and Owen planned a raid on the creatures that had fallen through at the same time. The beasts were stalking local goth clubs, preying on the wanna-be-vamps, but it wasn’t funny for long, when little sparkly boys went missing. 

Which left Jack poring over paperwork of missing persons, and Ianto making coffee. Finally, Jack pushed it all aside--he wasn’t in the mood for aliens. Over a hundred years of this bloody Torchwood life, couldn’t he for once have a break from it all?

Ianto stuck his head in the door. “Refill, sir?”

“Thanks, Ianto.” Jack grinned, scooting his chair back. 

Ianto leaned over and poured the fresh, steaming coffee in his mug. Jack reached over, brushing Ianto’s fingers as he took the mug. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “About Number 23.” 

“Oh?”

They’d covered one of the dungeon cells in dark sheets for privacy. Jack had told Ianto to shackle his wrists to the wall and whip him. Ianto didn’t like taking control–but he did it anyway, when Jack ordered him to. He needed permission to like it.

The pain and the sex and the violence in that encounter still made Jack’s head spin, though the scrapes on their knees from the cement floor had long healed. Jack had replayed the footage just this morning and noticed how vocal Ianto had been. All those groans and grunts and vicious comments that he usually kept silent had been on full display in video file 23.

“Can’t stop thinking about it,” Jack said.

“Really, sir?” Ianto gave a tight smile and took a step back. 

“Not your favorite?” Jack asked. “Sounded like you enjoyed yourself at the time.”

“I was thinking about number four today.” Ianto leaned slightly on the desk, looking down at him.

Jack sipped the coffee-–it was perfect–-then he set it down and stood up to look Ianto in the face. “Don’t even know why we recorded that one. A little vanilla, don’t you think?”

“Sometimes that’s relaxing,” Ianto offered.

Jack nodded, thinking. Number four was a bit pedestrian–-they’d made love on his bed, naked and wrapped around each other, and you could hardly see anything in the video. He wondered if that was all Ianto really wanted. Quiet, romantic. The kind of lovemaking that made long-term relationships get boring quickly, in Jack’s opinion.

He pulled out a flash drive from his desk. “I got a new one today. We could try something different, tomorrow night.”

“What have you got in mind?” Ianto’s cheeks flushed slightly–nope, he was definitely still interested in this game. 

Jack grinned. “Maybe get you a police uniform?”

Ianto’s mouth quirked into a smile. “Where do you intend to find a uniform?”

Jack leaned in close. “You have 24 hours. I’m sure you can come up with something.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Ianto answered with a little raise of the eyebrow, then edged back out the door. 

Jack sat down again and heard the Hub door opening. Ianto must have left without giving the others a refill on their coffee–-usually a cue for them to get the hell out after business hours. He heard the others packing up for the night, heard the door opening and closing again. 

Just as he thought he was alone, there was a knock on his office door.


	2. Fumbling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen confronts Jack following the events of "Meat," where Rhys learns about her work with Torchwood and Gwen refuses to retcon him.

Jack shoved the dirty magazine that he’d been thumbing through back under the pile of paperwork. Gwen’s boots clacked on the floor, and she was looking at him expectantly. 

She stepped up to his desk, all business. “I need a word, Jack.”

“All right.”

“The others went home. It’s just me, left.”

Jack leaned back, his boots on the papers on his desk, and his hands behind his head, waiting. 

He expected her to rattle off whatever she was working on. Instead, she came around and leaned on his desk, just inches from where his legs were resting. 

“Last week—when Rhys was shot.” She hesitated.

“How’s he doing?”

“Still goes off on an excited rant every time I mention an alien.” Her grin was lopsided.

He smiled back. 

“Before I left that night,” she continued, breaking her gaze. “You said you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t retcon me.”

Jack nodded, looking off toward the wall. “You threatened Torchwood.” 

“I did not.” She leaned forward. “Torchwood would carry on without me. It’s you that felt threatened.”

Her eyes flashed with a challenge, and Jack reacted, feeling his pulse quicken. He launched out of his chair, leaning toward her. Her eyes widened, but she barely moved. She was used to him, getting in her face like a commanding officer. He kept his voice quiet. “You’re unhappy here? You want to leave Torchwood?”

“I want to stay.” Gwen shook her head. “But I’m not the only police officer with interest in aliens. You could find a replacement. But you couldn’t let me go, Jack. You, not Torchwood. So, why not?”

“You’re part of my team. We need you here. If you threaten to leave, you threaten the organization.” 

“Are you jealous of Rhys? Because I spend my days investigating aliens with you, but I go home to his bed at night?” 

“I don’t get jealous.” He didn’t pull away. He could feel her breath. “I’m your boss. You’re getting married, Gwen.”

Gwen nodded, lifting her hand and wiggling her ring finger at him, forcing him to move away. “He loves me.”

“Very shiny.” He stepped back. “Yes, he does.”

“Cubic zirconia—he couldn’t afford a diamond.” Suddenly her tone was quiet, conversational. “Besides, he wanted me to wear his grandmother’s, but she’s not dead yet.” She made a pained face.

He pulled away with a sigh. “You won, Gwen! Rhys gets to keep his memories. You can tell him about the rift. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“We’re not finished! You walk around in this coat like a suit of armor,” she said, grasping his lapel in her hand, not letting him turn away. “But you’re not really invincible are you? There’s all those feelings bottled up inside, underneath all that.”

Jack clenched and unclenched his hands, and let his breath out slowly, urging himself not to react. “What do you want, Gwen?”

“Take off the coat.”

Jack squared his shoulders, and smoothly pulled the coat off, folding it over his chair. Then he faced her, face taut and blank, hands on his hips.

She jumped off his desk and came up close to him, one hand over his heart. “You’re not alone, Jack. The whole world isn’t cold and lonely and terrible.”

“Sometimes it’s hot and fantastic.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from his chest. He couldn’t resist darting his eyes down to her cleavage. He wondered if she meant to be erotic. 

Her eyes were dilated. Oh, but she did. What a game they were playing. 

He leaned in closer to her and imagined he could smell her reaction. Quietly, he said, “You don’t want to go home to your fiancé?”

“I know where I stand with Rhys. You go out of your way to be a mystery.”

“I don’t, though,” he said, dropping her arm suddenly. “I’ve just lived through too much. It would take libraries to explain everything.”

He let her wrist go, and she took his hand, moving forward against him. “Then start now, Jack.”

She tilted her head up, looking at him, mouth slightly open. He couldn’t believe it, but he went with his instinct anyway and kissed her. 

She responded, pressing herself against him. 

“We’re alone?” he asked, pulling away.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He pushed her against the desk. “You can keep this to yourself?”

Gwen nodded. Her voice was low like he’d never heard it. “Absolutely.”

Her hands were wandering across his chest, fiddling with his buttons. She was fluent with them, soon shucking off his shirtsleeves. His hands strayed to her hips, pulling her against him.

\--

How quickly they moved from the barricaded, wary volley of words, to the tentative question of the kisses. Then they were writhing against each other, dry and hot and hiding nothing. 

All of their looks, the playful laughter, the sharp barbs they’d thrown at each other in the last year, crystallized and became clear. All this anxiety built because they simply wanted each other and couldn’t say it clearly before. Now that the one boundary had fallen, they all had, and there was no holding anything back—nothing slow and censored and questioning, just this sudden quest of their hands to find each other’s sensitive spots.

Jack worked his hands up her shirt, unclasped her bra, felt the soft skin of her breasts under his callused fingers. He pulled all the layers off her, and lowered his mouth to her nipple. All the while, he thought, she was much braver than himself to risk this. Her hand was reaching for his cock, and he pushed his hips toward her.

It was all a huge mistake. They both knew it. Yet here they both were—finally naked in his bed, his cock wedged into her, her hair a mess on his pillow, her cunt suddenly flooding for him. She ran her palms across his stomach, awed at his body, comparing him to her chubby Rhys. There was nothing soft about Jack—not his muscles gliding under his skin, not the way his eyes bored into hers, not the way he pulled her nipples and gripped her waist. 

He pounded into her even as he seduced her with his smile, his voice murmuring in her ear, forcing her to shriek and whine and call to the ceiling until she couldn’t take it anymore.

She pushed him over, rolled onto him and straddled him. He pushed his hips up against her, keeping the rhythm she set, grunting with each thrust. He let her speed up, let her fuck him, let her work her way to a whiplash orgasm. Her neck was thrown back, white and exquisite, her stomach lifting and falling under his hands, her breasts with a buoyancy of their own like boats on the waves. And for a few moments, there was a storm and they were just wet, wet all over, their voices a rough banshee wind.

When she started to still and quiet down, Jack pushed her on her side and entered her again. He gripped her hips against him and sucked on her neck, until she squirmed away.

“No marks. No marks, Jack. We can’t—“

“You belong to me. You belong to Torchwood,” he growled.

She fought him as he reached for her hand, but he yanked off the ring and tossed it on the ground, pushing her around, her stomach on the mattress. 

He chewed her neck, but this time carefully. “No marks. Promise,” he murmured softly. “It’s all right?”

“Yes!” 

He pushed in her again, slowly, then faster until he was pumping her and groaning. She was shouting his name, and Yes, and God, and all kinds of usual things, and he couldn’t remember if Ianto did the same. 

He stilled, and she pushed back against him, wiggling, trying to push him over the edge. He pulled out and held her there, still, and she could feel his cock pulsing on her thigh.

“Why?” she asked, then he rolled her over and stared in her face. She couldn’t read his expression. “I want you to finish.”

He nodded, once, and pushed into her again, this time looking her in the face. She moaned, feeling him work his way into the right spot inside her, and she clenched her thighs around him. He grinned, encouraged, and kept thrusting into her. “We have all night.”

Gwen grinned. “So we do.”

All night or not, neither of them lasted much longer. Afterward, she pushed on her side facing away. He stroked her back. “Are you going to regret this?” he asked softly.

“No. Yes. It’s not right, Jack, but it’s _so_ right.”

He threaded his fingers through her hair, and pressed his lips to her shoulder. With her body against him, he let his eyes slide down the curve of her breast as it met her rib cage. His gaze caressed her belly, and stroked her hips and thighs, and he felt himself warming again, wishing the night didn’t have to end. 

His voice betrayed him. “You should go home. Go to him.”

Gwen agreed all too quickly, and sat up. “He’ll be asleep.”

“He’ll know you came home. Wake up together.” He didn’t want her to leave—but then, he wanted what was best for her. 

Still without looking at him, Gwen began pulling on her clothes. Jack scratched his neck and pulled on a pair of boxer shorts, then grabbed a water bottle from the box on the floor. With his back between her and the bottle, he pulled a small canister from his trousers, and dropped a pill in the water, watching it dissolve and then screwing the cap back on. Then he turned around and handed it to her. 

“Take some water for the road.”

Gwen looked at him for the first time since they’d both come. “You want me to forget?”

Jack shook his head. “It might be better.”

She took the bottle but didn’t open it. It was her choice—he wasn’t going to force her. In truth, he didn’t want to retcon her. He wanted her to fantasize about it later—alone in the bath, or pinned under Rhys as the sweaty curls surrounding his cock twined with her own trim, black fuzz.

“Will you do the same?” Gwen asked.

Jack shook his head, looking down at the bed. “No.” His voice was low and raspy, and he swallowed. “I won’t forget this.”

Gwen nodded and pulled away. As her heels clacked on the floor of the Hub and the circular door opened, Jack flicked on his CCTV feed. 

A figure in an impeccable suit waited by the water. Ianto was sitting there, just sitting there waiting. Occasionally—no, too often—Ianto waited, and Jack would call him in for the night if he was so inclined. Sometimes they would play hide and seek, most times they would fuck, and once in a while, they would just curl up and sleep. 

Ianto stood as the door opened. Gwen didn’t know—none of the team knew--that Ianto often waited. She came into the video frame and spoke to Ianto, then sat down beside him. Jack saw her toy with the lid of the water bottle. 

Jack willed her to move on, go home, throw the retcon-water off the pier.


	3. Drowning

Ianto buried his hands deep in the warm dishwater, soaping the same dish over and over. The water swirled and soothed his skin. His palms stung from doing pushups on the concrete floor of the basement, and his wrists were still sore from Jack pressing him against the wall. 

As he’d left the Hub the night before, he’d hesitated. He wanted to stay. He wanted Jack pushing him against a wall, murmuring to him, palms pressed into Ianto’s backside, their sweat mingling. And the way Jack had spoken of their videos made him think Jack wanted that, too. 

So Ianto waited outdoors, watching the light reflecting off the water--just sitting and waiting for the light to fade, for Gwen and Owen and Tosh to leave, for Jack to see him on the CCTV and invite him back inside. 

He’d lost track of time. Night fell. Lights came on. He had no reason to go home. 

Gwen had come out of the Hub with a smile hovering around her face, and that’s when he suspected this was more than some special Torchwood project. Her smile went tight when she saw him, and when she came close and they talked, he could smell Jack on her skin. 

At her urging, he’d walked her home. Then the next morning, he’d come in early as usual but before he could make coffee, Jack grabbed his shoulder shoved him into the wall. 

Jack’s voice echoed in Ianto’s head, “You can’t say a word to her. Not a word.”

Ianto didn’t even know what exactly he wasn’t allowed to talk to her about. 

Jack’s fierce nearness made Ianto crave a morning shag. The sweat, the heat, the loudness of it. Buck naked and bent over the conference table or a kitchen chair or down on Jack’s bed—he didn’t care, really.

But Jack had just threatened him: if he so much as mentioned he’d seen Gwen leave last night, he’d regret it. Then Jack just stalked off and was missing by the time Ianto had coffee ready. 

Ianto caught himself squeezing the plate, nearly breaking the ceramic in half. He let out a breath, dunked the plate in rinse water, and set it in the dish rack. He picked up the next mug to wash. 

Best not consider what Jack and Gwen were doing in the night. Best not consider why she’d been retconned for it. 

Jack was the boss. And his lover. And he didn’t want to think what would happen if he tried to confront him. He would have to wait, and watch, and bide his time till he figured out what the hell Jack’s game was.

\--

Jack had to stop. It was out of control; he knew it. Ianto knew it. The rest of the team was going to figure out soon—equal bet whether Owen or Gwen herself got there first. Then again, Tosh she was sharper than she acted—she just knew how to keep quiet. 

Gwen was back from an undercover job in a short black dress and heels, and as they all trooped out of an afternoon huddle in the conference room, Jack wanted to keep her back and push her down against the table. Mental note: He needed to find more excuses to get her dressed up for undercover missions, then find private ways to debrief her. 

Gwen turned to ask him a question, and he turned tail and fled to his office, shutting the door with a thud behind him. He kicked himself. No one would find out anything—unless of course he gave it away. He looked at the bubbling hand of the Doctor. Wished he could be whisked away to another planet for a moment. The Doctor would reprimand him—flash those dark, disapproving eyes and that erotic little pout.

What he needed was a rough, quick shag. Or maybe a slow, sensual shag. Preferably one after the other. He went in search of Ianto, only to find him chatting with Gwen about Captain America and comics these days.

“Well,” he clapped Ianto on the shoulder. “Since we’re all working late, how about Chinese?”

“That’s my cue to leave,” Owen said. “I’ve got plans tonight.”

“To order a double shot whiskey at Looney’s pub down the street?” Gwen asked.

“Could do,” Owen shrugged. “When I say I’ve got plans, I mean anywhere besides here.”

“That report you wanted is on your desk, Jack,” Tosh chimed in, “But I could stay if you need me.” She supplied her helpful little smile, and he felt a flash of pain for her.

“Go home,” Jack told her. “Have a good night. Owen—no pub fights.”

“How was I to know that cute brunette was a homicidal shape-shifting Ariovat?”

“One would think the smell would give it away,” muttered Ianto. 

Jack grinned. 

“Rhys is working late,” Gwen said. “I’ll stay for Chinese.”

“Splendid. Ianto, make the call. Tosh, go make sure Owen doesn’t get in any trouble. See you in the morning.”

“Thanks,” Tosh twisted her smile into a wry little grin and rushed out the door like she had somewhere to be. 

“Broccoli beef for me, okay?” Gwen called to Ianto. He nodded, and she turned back to her computer.

Jack put his hand on Ianto’s shoulder, leaning in close to his ear. “You know what I want, right?”

“Sweet and sour?”

“That’s fine.”

“Chicken.”

“Ianto!”

“You want me to eat and scram, sir.”

“Yeah.” 

Jack had planned to have a night in with Ianto, not kick him out. But once Ianto said it, well Ianto knew what Jack really wanted, and he was willing to give in. He would sacrifice Jack’s bed to stay in Jack’s favor without a word of complaint. Jack admired that. It showed strength and resilience. 

He squeezed Ianto’s shoulder. “Just find a reason to keep her here.”

Ianto glanced at him sidelong and nodded, barely an expression on his face. Then he turned away, speaking into his earpiece. “Hello, I’m ordering for delivery.”

Jack knew that underneath his blank looks and snarky comments, there was a lot going on in Ianto’s mind. He turned away, with a sigh. Now he was involving Ianto in his plans with Gwen. This had to stop. But that would happen tomorrow. Tonight was already in motion.

And Ianto was true to his word. They talked shop and movies, ate and laughed, and then Ianto excused himself to poke around the rift. He came up with something new and novel to pique Gwen’s interest. Then he kept yawning like he meant it, until Jack sent him home. 

Twenty minutes later, Jack and Gwen had discussed a half-baked plan to investigate some warehouse where the rift energy was allegedly spiking, and Jack had managed to work his way against her again.


	4. Sweet and Sour

He loved this—knowing that she wanted it, and that she would give in. For her, it was the first time, every time. She never chose to remember. There was always a chance she would turn him down and go home to her fiancé. 

But it was easier every time. Her body remembered. Just 20 minutes after Ianto left, Jack had moved to sit beside her on the couch. Each of them had finished a glass of wine, and when Jack reached out a tentative hand to her thigh, she moved closer instead of flinching away. 

Slowly he’d inched his hands up Gwen’s skirt, until her chatter ceased and she uttered his name like a question. He leaned in to kiss her. She fluttered her hands, then grasped his upper arms as he stroked her waist and her hips.

Finally, as they pulled each other closer, his fingers grazed higher up her thighs, and she melted backwards into the couch. Her moans echoed up to where Myfanwy circled lazily above them. 

Jack pulled the straps of her dress off with his teeth, and then kneeled in front of her as she opened her thighs to him. She tugged on his hair, and he stretched out his tongue to taste her, pushing her knickers aside with his nose. She was wet and tangy and intoxicating. Her wiry hair grazed his face, and he sucked in her fragrance and the folds of her. 

His cock strained against his trousers as she called his name. He’d lost count of how many times he’d seduced her in the last week.

When she came, her wetness ran down his chin, and he sucked it up until she stopped bucking against him and her voice quieted down. When he pulled his wet face away, she looked down at him. Her cheeks and mouth were red and shone with sweat. 

He wanted to stand up and pull her face to his cock. But she looked down at him with dark eyes and spoke, “We’ve done this before, haven’t we?”

He squeezed her thigh, licking her wetness from his lips. His voice was low and nearly cracked. “Yeah.” 

“You retconned me?” 

“You always have the choice,” Jack said. 

“It’s been _more than once?_ ” She sounded a bit shocked.

Jack nodded, running his hands up her thigh, and then pulling himself up to sit next to her. She hadn’t pulled away, but he couldn’t meet her eyes anymore. “Every night the last week. Today I wasn’t sure if you remembered.” His fingers stroked at the soft fabric of her dress, turning it over in his fingers.

“How could you?” she murmured, but she hadn’t pulled away.

He looked at her, surprised, even as she pressed against him. “What’s one more time?” she asked.

He groaned as her mouth surrounded his, her tongue flickered against his lips, and she fumbled for the button of his trousers, then reached to pull them off. Then she straddled him, grinding down around him and rubbing him with her hands as if she’d been craving this all day, too.

“Gwen,” he groaned, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. He couldn’t help his own voice as he grunted against her. She lifted up, forcing him to raise his head and meet her eyes as she rose and fell around him. They moaned in unison, and then laughed as Myfanwy called above them. 

Gwen’s black hair swirled around Jack’s face, and he lifted a hand to brush it away and cup her cheek. He kissed her simply, and in their touch, there was something more understanding and friendly than any of the feverish kisses of the last week. 

“I’m not going to forget this time, Jack. Don’t think you can make me.”

“Up to you,” Jack said. “Every time.”

He pushed his hips forward, and Gwen responded with a thrust of her own, and then they just clung to each other, moving and unable to stop—in and out, in and out, all wet and splashing like the tide. 

Soon, she began to cry out, and his breath was ragged. He took her breast in his mouth and suckled her, licking the tip with his tongue. She shivered and shuddered like the current of a river rushing around him, and he finally gave in, venting inside her. 

Later, he stroked her hair, and she lay slumped against him, dozing into sleep right there on the couch. He eased himself away gingerly and found her a glass of water and a large-dose pill of retcon laced with a sleeping agent. 

He shook her shoulders. “Gwen, drink this. You’re dehydrated.”

She mumbled and sat up sleepily, leaning against one arm, and gulped down the water without a thought. Then she put it down and rolled back over into sleep. 

Jack ran his hands over her body, kissed her, then at dawn, he dressed her and took her home. She would be asleep awhile yet. 

He sat in the SUV, the heater blowing over his shoulders, his hands on Gwen’s thigh as she slumped in the passenger seat. He watched Rhys drive away, and then he eased the SUV into the driveway and unlocked the flat with Gwen’s key. He carried her inside, undressed her again and lay her down on her bed. The room smelled like her husband.

Jack stood in the doorway for several minutes, watching her ribs rise and fall. He would always have the memory at least. He knew he wouldn’t do this again. It had gone too far, for too long.

As he eased the SUV back out of the driveway, there was only one person he could call. 

“Jack?” Ianto’s voice sounded distant.

“Stay home,” Jack ordered him. “I’m on my way to you.”

“You’re what?” 

“Did you ever find that police uniform?”

“Gwen was very helpful,” Ianto replied, promptly. “She used her connections.”

“Good, because you’re about to keep me on 24-hour house arrest.”

“Jack?” Ianto sounded startled. “I’ll go find the handcuffs.”

Jack chuckled. “Knew I could count on you to impart justice on behalf of the citizens of Cardiff.”

“My pleasure.” 

Jack thought he detected a smug tone in Ianto’s voice. He grinned. He’d neglected Ianto for too long. Now Jack just needed to teach the boy a thing or two about speaking his mind, and taking control.


End file.
